


For Science

by DreamerInSilico



Series: Angela Ziegler, Gay Disaster [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (if you're me), Angela is a mess, F/F, Rivalmance, a relatable mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 18:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13013838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamerInSilico/pseuds/DreamerInSilico
Summary: Angela's office (among other things) is a disaster zone.  Moira is amused.





	For Science

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I try to write Angela seriously my own mental health issues that I project onto her make it profoundly difficult. But here's a something! This was written for @overwatchwlw on Tumblr's winter femslash fest, which was the kick in the pants I needed to get some words on a page.
> 
> This can be considered to be within the Constellations continuinty.

 

“So this is why you never take meetings in here.”  Moira’s low voice is almost a purr, and dripping with amusement in a way that Angela somehow simultaneously finds irritating and incredibly attractive.  

She’s not wrong: Angela’s office is a disaster by almost any standards, one that Angela seldom inflicts upon visitors.  It has become more of a repository - texts, heavily highlighted and annotated printouts of journal articles, old lab notebooks, lab coats and other clothing in various states of cleanliness or lack thereof, half-empty coffee mugs, stashes of Angela’s favorite sour candies, awards she’s never gotten around to framing and hanging up - than a work space, and it hasn’t had the dignity of a “meeting” space since approximately her second month inhabiting it.  It’s a place for her to keep things so they won’t be in the way in the lab, and sometimes to fall asleep (with or without clearing off the couch first) when going home is too inconvenient but she can’t stay awake any longer.  

It is not a place that has ever really  _ embarrassed _ Angela before - she knows what her own priorities are and keeping her office tidy has never been one of them - but somehow Moira’s scrutiny, right now, is making her face heat up.  

“Did you follow me in here to critique my housekeeping, or did you have something else in mind that might actually be worth our time?” Angela retorts, forcing down her awkwardness enough to quirk an eyebrow (what she hopes is) cooly up at Moira.  They’ve been dancing around one another for weeks, testing, challenging, and frankly, Angela has had enough.  It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate a good case of sexual tension… but when it comes to such things, the line between “good” and “insufferable” can get whisper-thin, and Moira has had at least one foot clear over it for days, now.  Something is going to happen, even if that something is just Angela putting her foot in her mouth.  

“Are you implying that my mere presence is not  _ interesting _ to you, Doctor Ziegler?” Moira murmurs, smug confidence in every line of her lanky body as she advances on Angela, who holds her ground.  

“I am  _ saying _ that you can be a great deal more interesting, and we both know it.”  

Moira is positively looming over her, now; she’s a full head taller than Angela and has a well-developed sense of  _ menace _ to go with her stature.  She has a way of looking at people ( _ me _ , points out Angela’s internal voice, rather emphatically) that feels like undergoing a dissection.  Somehow in a (mostly) pleasant way.  A shiver runs through Angela’s core, unbidden, as Moira reaches out those long, slim, elegant fingers to trail the tips against her jaw.  

“I would so hate to disappoint you,” she murmurs, her tone all crushed velvet.  

“Then see that you do not,” Angela breathes, not managing to reach the note of steely command she’s aiming for, but Moira seems to like what she hears, because she chuckles, low and full.  The sound is as much a caress as the touch of her fingers, and then…

...and then she’s finally leaning down, capturing Angela’s lips in a confident, sensual kiss, and it’s smooth and hot and oddly precise and so terribly, terribly good.  

It is terrifying - Angela isn’t even sure she  _ likes _ Moira, precisely, and since she’s certainly never been attracted to someone she’s had such ambivalent feelings about before, she doesn’t know what to do with this tidal pull, now.  But a pull, it is.  The woman fascinates her to distraction, and it seems that maybe… maybe, at least, that  _ inconvenience  _ is a mutual one.

As she kisses her until they’re both dizzy, she holds to that sense of symmetry as a consolation: if this is as strange for Moira as it is for her, then maybe… maybe she can let it happen.

For science, if nothing else.


End file.
